Bruce had let her leave without stopping her.

That was important.

Because Bruce Wayne did not beg.

Did not chase.

Did not stand in doorways asking people to stay.

If someone wanted to walk away from him, he let them.

Even when he didn’t want to.

Especially then.

So when she told him she deserved better than being some billionaire’s sugar baby and packed her things with tears in her eyes and frustration in every movement—

Bruce simply stood there listening.

Quiet.

Controlled.

Painfully calm.

“If that’s what you believe,” he said evenly, “then I won’t insult you by arguing.”

And that had been that.

She left Wayne Manor that night convinced distance would fix everything.

Convinced she needed more.

Someone simpler.

Someone easier.

Someone normal.

Bruce watched the taillights disappear down the long driveway before finally exhaling through his nose.

Then he went back inside.

Three days passed.

That was all.

Three.

On the third evening, Alfred entered the study with the expression of a man trying very hard not to look entertained.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said smoothly, “you appear to have a visitor.”

Bruce didn’t look up from the paperwork immediately.

“She forgot something?”

Alfred’s mouth twitched slightly.

“I believe, sir, she forgot your existence is difficult to replace.”

That got Bruce’s attention.

He looked up.

And there she was.

Standing in the doorway again.

Silent.

Nervous.

Back.

Bruce stared at her for a long moment before leaning back slowly in his chair.

“…Three days,” he said quietly.

A pause.

“I expected at least a week.”